The Many Colors of Chuck Bartowski
by Mikki13
Summary: Preparing for a cover date, Sarah reflects on the changes Chuck has brought into her life. Fluffy angsty one-shot.


**A/N:** Written as part of the LJ "Story Lottery" challenge, the prompt was "rainbow." Short of writing Chuck and Sarah riding through Burbank on a pink unicorn while a rainbow slowly descended from a golden sky full of fluffy purple clouds, I chose to go this route instead. Yeah, I know. The unicorn story would have so rocked.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, although I may commandeer NBC studios if it doesn't come back any sooner than March. Stay tuned for further details.

~*~

Black. White. Grey. Brown.

Thumbing through my closet, the metallic sound of the hangers echoing through my room, I find that Sarah has absolutely no variety in her wardrobe. I say "Sarah" because, let's face it, she's really just a mask. A disguise. I'm Sarah Walker just as much as I was Jenny Burton ten years ago, just as much as I was Abigail Lisa Woods at birth. Much like the colors found in her wardrobe, Sarah Walker is just a shadow of who I really am.

With one exception.

Biting my lower lip, a face with strong lines and deep brown eyes flashes through my mind. The image is so strong that for a moment, it's all that I see. Forgetting about the lack of colors in Sarah's wardrobe, I simply think about the man who has, without a doubt, become the one exception. The man who is the one person who can pierce through my mask and, despite my attempts to hide, see me for who I really am. The man who has the uncanny ability of making me feel connected to this identity in a way that I've never felt connected to any other.

But no. I can't allow myself to do this. I can't allow myself to admit the effect Chuck Bartowski has on me, the powerful grip he's unwittingly exerted upon every aspect of my life. Admitting it would be unprofessional, un-agent-like. Admitting it would force me to face the vulnerability I've spent my entire life trying to escape. And that's just not something I'm ready to do.

Letting out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, I finally abandon my closet and step over to my dresser, determined to stop thinking about my vulnerabilities and to find something more colorful in my wardrobe. Something that will at least make me stand out amongst all the blacks and whites and greys and browns. Something worthy of a night out. Even though I don't know why I'm going to all the trouble. Why I'm taking the time to make myself over like this is something more than what it really is. Because in reality, this is just a con. A lie. It isn't real, it isn't true. It's only a cover date.

A cover date with Chuck.

My muscles tighten at the thought, my hands freezing halfway through my search for an outfit. Outside, the sun shines brightly through my hotel room window, cutting through the shadows flickering along the walls and floor, and dispelling the shadows currently playing havoc within my mind. Almost as if it's mocking me; almost as if it's casting a spotlight upon my thoughts, trying to get me to admit that my relationship with Chuck Bartowski is much more than a cover.

I decide to ignore it.

My hand finally closes in upon a dark blue shirt with tiny blue buttons. I remember Chuck telling me once that he liked this particular shirt. I also distinctly remember him telling me that he disliked the color red. This in mind, I pull the shirt from my drawer and slip into the silky fabric, then match it with denim blue jeans.

As soon as the outfit is in place, my eyes drift to the jewelry box resting on top of my dresser. Without really thinking, my hand rises to finger the wooden container, currently illuminated by the same sun which is attempting to force a spotlight into my thoughts. And before I can stop myself, before I even know what I'm really doing, I reach into the box and withdraw a delicate bracelet with tiny dangling charms. A bracelet given to me last Christmas, by a man unlike any other. A man who isn't afraid to be vulnerable.

The thought causes an ache to reverberate through my chest, longing and affectionate in equal measure. It's a feeling that I've spent the better part of ten years trying to suppress; a feeling that has no part in my life now. Biting the inside of my cheek, I pretend as if I don't feel the ache, staring instead at the bracelet dangling from my wrist. Now the sun is glinting off its surface, causing the silver hue of the charms to glimmer and shine. The color is so different from anything I'm used to that it's almost captivating. It almost causes me to forget what can never be.

Almost.

I only tear myself away when I hear the knock on my door. And even though I tell myself that it's only my imagination, or the amount of work I've put into my cover, I feel my heart skip a beat when I open the door to find Chuck standing there, holding a deep red rose.

"For the cover," he explains sheepishly, handing me the flower. The petals are like red velvet, thin red lines flowing through their curves.

"Wow, Chuck," I drawl, pretending as if his gift doesn't send a thrill coursing down my spine. "You didn't have to do that." I pause, willing my mask to slide carefully into place as I raise the rose to my face, breathing in its sweet fragrance. "It's beautiful," I tell him, allowing myself to give him a soft smile. And when an attractive pink blush creeps onto his cheeks, my smile inadvertently widens into a small grin.

"Well, I figured that if we're going to go on a date," he says, leaning against the door frame, "then we should definitely do it right. You know, just in case people are watching."

"Right," I say, nodding gravely even while my mouth twitches. "You can never be too careful in these situations. There's no telling who might be out there, making sure you bring me a gift."

"Exactly," Chuck says, flashing me his trademark grin. Unbidden, my eyes drift to the ivory smoothness of his teeth, framed within the pink lushness of his mouth. "We might have to do this on a regular basis," he continues, oblivious as I tear my sight away from his lips. "There's all kinds of avenues left to explore. Chocolate. Jewelry. Stuffed panda bears."

"Stuffed panda bears?" I repeat, smirking.

"Just covering all my bases," Chuck replies, his eyes dancing.

"Hmm," I murmur throatily, very nearly mesmerized by the man staring into my eyes. Perhaps it's due to this momentary trance, or maybe it's because I'm so into our cover, that I make my next move. Whatever the case, I'm suddenly leaning forward onto my tiptoes and kissing him. And when my mouth meets his, when my free hand rises to tangle in his hair and our bodies connect in a way that neither of us is prepared for, everything else is suddenly forgotten. My pulse begins to race as a white hot rush of pleasure courses through my veins, his bracelet cool and heavy on my wrist and the feel of his lips warm and soft beneath my mouth.

The kiss only lasts for a few seconds. It's more than a peck, but much less than a passionate embrace. Nevertheless, when we finally break contact, his face is flushed and it takes me a moment to catch my breath. And because I can see the question in his eyes, and because I know that I have to say something, I finally whisper, "Just covering all my bases."

He blinks and studies me for a moment. "So that was just a cover kiss?" he murmurs, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

"Of course," I reply smoothly, slipping into agent mode even though I can't help but watch the trajectory of his tongue. "We are on a cover date, after all."

"Right," he replies, but a hint of the same question remains reflected within his eyes.

Trying to cover for my momentary lapse, I smile up at him. "Ready?" I ask, holding out my hand. And in that moment, I realize that maybe I'm taking the cover a little too far. Because the truth is, we really don't have to hold hands. We don't have to kiss, we don't have to exchange gifts. Frankly, we don't even have to go on this date. I could simply ask Chuck to lay low for a few hours, and then return home to regale his sister with stories of our outing. But for some reason, the thought of not going on a date with Chuck never occurred to me. For some reason, offering him my hand is almost more natural than trying to calm the rapid beating of my heart. (Not that my heart's really beating _that_ quickly.)

Perhaps it's because it feels so natural that I don't stop to consider which hand I offer him, but simply extend the one closest to his lanky frame. Unfortunately, it's also the one currently adorned by his mother's bracelet.

His gaze immediately travels to it, taking in the dangling silver charms. And suddenly, his eyes light up, sending an array of ambers and golds into the field of cinnamon brown. When he laces his fingers through my own, the "Ready" which emerges from his mouth is slightly husky.

I close my eyes for a minute, and almost grit my teeth. I really shouldn't be doing this. I really shouldn't be playing so convincingly into my cover. But when Chuck squeezes my hand and his thumb brushes against my skin, I realize that it's really no more a cover than the kiss was an accident. And even though I don't know where that leaves us, and even if I can't do anything about it right now, the thought occurs to me that maybe someday I can.

Maybe someday the shadows of Sarah's world can be chased away permanently, and she can step forward into the light, bringing me along with her.

Black. White. Grey. Brown.

These are the colors of Sarah Walker's wardrobe, the colors of her life – a life which is inextricably intertwined with my own. But walking down the hallway hand-in-hand with Chuck, I realize that maybe that can change. Just as he's brought a multitude of colors into my life, from the light pink which covers his cheeks to the silver bracelet dangling from my wrist to the red rose lying back on my hotel room desk, he's also penetrated my guarded façade, entering my world and painting it with a layer of hope. A layer which acts like a fog beacon, breaking through the shadows and bringing with it a tiny ray of light.

As I squeeze Chuck's hand on our way out of my hotel, I realize that the world suddenly doesn't look quite so dark.

_Fin._


End file.
